I am no exception to the Rule of Omission, which states that a straight guy, when surrounded by ten or more beautiful women, will subconsciously omit everything else from his field of vision. A similar situation arose last night. A long lost sister of mine coerced forced invited me to attend the shooting of the grand finale of a high-end reality fashion show, which was promised to be oozing with glamor. I took up the invitation reluctantly and only because of my brotherly protective instincts, which she managed to evoke quite deftly. How can a chivalrous guy like me let his kid sister wander the outskirt streets of a city like Mumbai alone at midnight and beyond?
So, I went as bodyguard and guest, and sat through two hours of boring social etiquette, while sexy women in breathtaking dresses paraded in front of me. As part of the audience, sitting in my usual torn jeans and ill-fitting shirt, I was the most under-dressed of the lot. And that is saying something. Everyone around me was dressed in lovely evening attire, dresses flowing freely on some and body-hugging some. Curves all around. I was in straight guy heaven.
The event itself was mediocre. The concept was not too unique and the contestants in the beauty pageant behaved exactly as they were expected to – pretty but dumb. There was the obligatory ‘world-peace’ speech from one of the girls and the cliched ‘stop-terrorism’ plea from another. There were four judges for the event (it could have been five, I’m not sure) – an ex-beauty queen, two or three Bollywood actors and a fashion designer. Apparently these people were celebrities and supposed to be quite the household name. I had never heard of them.
A 23-year old friend of mine who had accompanied us on this adventure became quite depressed halfway through the evening when my sister told her that she looked 28. The rest of the evening passed by in a blur for me, caught in between the incessant ‘Do I look 28?’ chants on one side and stunning women on the other. The buffet spread was passable at best, and a few social niceties later, we said skadoosh and hit the road. The place where this event was being held was called Madh Island (pronounced ‘Mud’, like in mud and dirt), which was a good hour away from the city proper, and in a secluded, forested beachfront. Quite a charming place in daylight and definitely not for the weak-hearted and paranoid in moonlight. We were lucky enough to find a cab at the gates, without having to do too much walking around, and reached our respective houses close to 1:00 in the morning.
It was quite a night. Now I know where all the hot women hang out.
PS: Why is looking the right age so important for women in their twenties when they don’t act their age?
PPS: Using ‘freshly pressed’ as a tag on your posts won’t get you featured on the WordPress homepage. I discovered this the hard way, in my previous post.
